Beneath the Neon
by Diabolical Pie
Summary: Tensions are high on the streets of Pokétopia as three gangs hang in the grips of a rising power struggle. When two men arrive at the city with a bang and begin to make some big changes to the crime underworld, what are their goals? In the face of crisis, a single police officer seems to be the only one with a chance of unraveling everything.


**Chapter 1**

Fuzzy grey raindrops drenched night in a thick fog as a man sprinted through a cramped alleyway with wild abandon. As he popped out of the alley he noisily knocked over a tin garbage can, spilling its contents into the wide streets and scuttling to his hands and knees with a yelp. It was a warm night in Pokétopia. Garrish pokémon-shaped buildings blazed brightly with neon color from the distant high-end city districts, and they cast their light into the rippling puddles of rainwater in the street. Shimmering dimly, the cheerful rainbow of liquid orbs on the ground was the only source of light in the abandoned streets, and the puddles wavered and shook with every thick raindrop. The rest of the district was stained with shades of grey and black that made the area resemble the murky bottom of a lifeless lake, where every squirming tendril of light had been asphyxiated by the shadows.

Scrambling from his hands and knees to stand to his feet again, the man whipped his head around quickly enough to fling water droplets about as he continued to run down the sidewalks. His scraggly beard- if you could even _call_ such scruff a beard- dripped with liquid, and made the man look even more rugged. His short black hair was plastered to his skull. Raindrops bounced off of his tattered brown waterproof jacket, and his boots sloshed through the thick colorful puddles beneath him as he forced his legs through the murk.

Paranoia was clear across his features as the man's tiny pupils shot back and forth. The constant rainfall muted the world around him and left only the sound of his rasping breathing to reverberate against his eardrums. He reached an intersection of the street, the light a flickering red. His wandering eyes snapped into focus they locked onto a small, brick apartment across the road. Within moments he was rushing up the concrete steps and swinging open the door. A waterfall of rain tumbled over the overhang above the entrance behind him, and, with a gasp of oxygen, he slammed the door behind him.

Nothing illuminated the cold space inside. To the right, an empty coat hanger stood dutifully. As the man turned his back to the door, his eyes were met with the familiar sight of a narrow, tall hallway that led straight to a flight of stairs. The night's darkness painted the entire passage in a thick blue color that concealed the fine details of the hallway before the man. He raised his drenched boots and squished forwards, passing a few indistinguishable photographs hung along the walls and an open door to his left that led into a simple living room. A wall clock in the living room clicked softly in time with the creaking of his boots. Each watery step was echoed by a soft tick as he made his way through the claustrophobic hallway and slowly up the steps.

After reaching a bend halfway up the stairs and turning around to continue upwards, the sound of the clock faded and the man was met with another hallway in front of him. This one had three simple doors- two directly across from each other halfway down the hall and one on the right at the very end. There was even less light up here than there had been on the bottom level. Muscle-memory allowed the man to navigate up the rest of the steps and he moved to the first door on the right, which remained slightly ajar. A warm, musky scent greeted him as he pushed the door open with a soft creak, his leathery, wet hands trembling from the cold.

"Johanna…?" he called out in a hushed whisper, peeking into the room. There was a full-sized bed with simple, blue sheets set in the middle of the square space, and to the right, a single, rectangular window cast its shadow onto the covers. The blinds had been pulled up to reveal the cross shape of the wooden borders lining the glass of the window, and the shadows of raindrops shivered down the fabric of the bed. "Johanna…!" the man called out again, a little more insistently. There was a large lump on the right side of the bed, and long red hair fanned onto the pillows. The woman didn't stir from her sleep.

With a silent curse, the drenched man opened the door all the way and moved across the dark room, his voice raising as he grew more bold. "Johanna," he said, the previous fear in his voice gone, "We need to get out of here, now." The man reached out for the woman's shoulder gave it an urgent shake. "I'll explain later, but…" his voice trailed off as he pulled the woman's shoulder to the side and she flopped lifelessly onto her back, blue eyes filmed with the haze of death staring emptily up at him.

The woman's jaw had been completely blown away, shattered bone and teeth laying scattered across her pillow in a seeping pool of blood. Her throat looked like something had ripped out of it from the inside, and the tender muscles underneath were exposed in all their glistening redness. A few tendrils of what might have once been beautiful orange hair had gotten stuck in the gore. The eyes continued to stare at the man as he failed to breathe, absorbing the scene.

With a weak curse, he took a single trembling step backwards only for the back of his head to connect with something cold and made of metal. Every hair on his body shivered and tried to shoot out of his skin. A soft, polite voice whispered out behind him. "I told you, Bobby…" the voice said smoothly, "Not to fuck with me." Time seemed to slow down and the man in the raincoat worked his mouth weakly. He was struck with the odd realization that despite being drenched with rain to every pore of his skin, his tongue felt incredibly dry. The heavy sound of a trigger cocking clicked against the walls of the tiny bedroom.

The man seemed to finally find his voice, and he called out dryly. "P… please…" he whispered weakly.

A single gunshot snapped out in the night. Rain continued to fall against the grey city streets.

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><p><strong>xxx<strong>

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><p>Out of every possible annoying creature anyone could make a plane to look like, the Pokétopia staff had chosen to replicate the shape of a Wingull for their passenger flights. A <em>Wingull<em>. The dazzling blue sky dotted with curling waves of white clouds would have normally been an incredibly majestic sight if it hadn't been for the hideous shape of a freaking Wingull plane rising up from the depths of a cloud and gliding along like the Loch Ness Monster of the skies.

With a sigh, a man in a window seat at the back of the plane slumped childishly into his chair. He pressed his knees into the back of the seat in front of him, much to the frustration of the increasingly uncomfortable old man sitting in the next row whose back felt crushed. "I can already tell I'm gonna hate this place…" the slumping man grumbled. He looked absolutely ridiculous, wearing a thin white tank top that exposed his bulging biceps and broad shoulders while sitting curled up in a ball like a little kid in a car ride. His companion, a man in a dark blue sweater, a well-groomed beard, and thick, square glasses sitting next to him looked up from the book he was reading with a raised eyebrow.

"You were the one that wanted to come here," the man with the glasses said, voice dull and uninterested. The muscular man sighed and sat up in his seat, wiggling around uncomfortably. His knees banged against the chair in front of him, further jostling the old man in the next row who was already easily prone to air-sickness to begin with. The man in the tank top ran his hands through his thick mop of brown hair, reaching into his pocket and withdrawing a pack of cigarettes. He knocked the box open and tapped it from the bottom with his index finger, popping one of the little sticks out and taking it between his teeth.

He muttered through the cigarette in his teeth as he put the box away and fumbled through his pockets to look for his lighter. "Well yeah, the cash is good. Doesn't mean I have to like the town." The man ignited his cigarette and inhaled slowly, trying to cover his annoyance. He slumped back into his chair and kicked his feet against the old man's seat in front of him, letting out a stream of smoke from his lips. The man in the next row twitched his eyebrows. "You're sure we're still getting paid for this thing?" the smoking man asked, glancing up through the curling tendrils of his hair to watch smoke float upwards.

"Positive," the man with the book replied without bothering to look up. "The line of succession was clear in the contract. We'll send a message to our new employer tonight."

"Umm… excuse me…?" Both men looked up to see a nervous, attractive flight stewardess glancing down at them, fidgeting uncomfortably at their intimidating stares. She gestured to her mouth, looking directly at the man in the tank top. "No smoking on the flight, sir." The man glared at her for a moment, then sighed and plucked the cigarette out of his mouth. He extinguished it remorsefully against the toe of his boot, then flicked it away and offered the flight stewardess his most charming smile. The flying cigarette coincidentally landed in the old man's lap, and he twitched again, on the verge of exploding.

The man in the tank top continued to beam at the flight stewardess until she sighed and walked back down the line. With a scowl, he crossed his arms. "I hate this ugly ass plane," he grumbled.

As if on cue, there was a soft ding, and the pilot's voice rang out over the intercom. "Ladies and gentlemen, we are now nearing our destination. We would like for you to take this time to fasten your seatbelts and prepare for landing. As always, thank you for riding Pokétopia Airlines- we hope you enjoyed your flight." There was another ding and the seatbelt symbol lit up with a dull orange glow.

The man in the sweater closed his book and tucked it into his heavy backpack, standing to his feet and blatantly ignoring the instructions. "Well," he said, re-adjusting his glasses, "Looks like you won't have to put up with it much longer." He shrugged his bulky bag onto his shoulders and walked over to the bathroom, closing the door silently behind himself. The man in the tank top reached up to scratch the stubble under his chin, lips pulling into a grin as he settled a little more comfortably into his chair.

As the man in the sweater locked the bathroom door behind himself, he reached to his belt and unclipped a tiny Great Ball from his belt. With a click of the center button, the ball grew to full size in the palm of his hand, and the man flicked his wrist to open the ball in a flash of red light. A dark translucent figure came into shape on the floor. Its shadowy skin was a deep purple color, and its head was practically split in half with the wicked, sharp grin that widened as the pokémon looked up to see its trainer. Two dazzling gemstones were lodged into its head in place of eyes. It made an excited clicking noise and crawled up the man's legs, climbing all over the stoic trainer until it settled up onto his shoulder. Without looking at the creature on his shoulder, the man reached up and rubbed it softly under its chin. It clicked and chirped happily at the affectionate gesture. "Sableye," the man said as he crouched down to unzip his backpack and withdraw a few more miniaturized pokéballs, "You know what to do." He began to click the buttons on each ball to enlarge them.

The devilish little creature rubbed its grubby hands together, its permanent grin seeming to widen. With a soft cackling noise, the pokémon faded into the shadows, and the sound echoed through the cramped space and vibrated against the walls. The man turned around and twisted the lock between his thumb and forefinger, opening the door again. He looked out into the passenger section of the plane just in time to see chaos erupt as his muscular companion casually kicked his feet up on top of the seat in front of him, and the elderly man sitting there finally exploded.

"YOU NO GOOD HEAP OF RATICATE PISS YOUNGSTER!" the old man screamed, immediately turning the heads of every person on the flight towards the back corner of the plane. "I'VE MET GYARADOS WITH BETTER MANNERS THAN YOU!" he continued to howl at the top of his lungs, waving his arms around wildly.

Temper flaring immediately, the man in the tank top shot to his feet, grabbing the old loon by the front of his hawaiian print shirt and screaming right back into his face. "The hell is wrong with you, old man!? You just start screaming at me for no reason and call _me _rude!?" Still holding the elderly man's shirt in a bunched up ball of fabric with his left hand, he raised his right fist threateningly. Judging by the twitching muscles, he could barely contain himself from knocking the man senseless then and there.

Quickly moving over and to his companion and keeping his voice and composure calm, the man with the glasses spoke evenly. "The mission is a go," he stated simply, holding out a bright red pokéball for the man in the tank top to take. Face changing from unbridled rage to elation immediately, the muscular man took the pokéball and flung it into the crowd. The man with the glasses followed suit, throwing three more pokéballs into the passengers. As the capsules erupted into showers of red light, white, round figures formed and materialized themselves. The crowd went from curious and silent to screaming and panicked as the pokémon became more defined: the men had unleashed four Voltorb right into the middle of the plane.

"EVERYONE CALM THE FUCK DOWN!" the muscular man screamed out at the frothing mass of people to little avail. Wordlessly, his companion withdrew a small semi-automatic pistol from his bag- a plain, deadly Glock 20- and fired two rounds above the heads of the terrified passengers. The bullets ricochéd against the metal interior of the plane and one struck a woman in the leg. She fell to the ground with a blood-curdling scream, clutching her calf and doing her best to stem the flow of blood that oozed thickly into the aisle. That shut everyone up.

The man in the tank top was still holding the now trembling old man with his left fist. His muscles bulged for a moment as he lifted the scrawny figure off his feet, then tossed him gruffly in the direction of his companion, who caught him fluidly and casually held the pistol to the man's balding skull. Stepping out of his seat and walking into his aisle, the man in the tank top shouldered his own thick black bag and surveyed the crowd. His brown eyes seemed to burn amber for a moment, searing into the spines of the onlookers. "Now, anyone tries anything, and this old coot here bites it!" Passengers trembled in their chairs as the duo walked down to the middle of the plane, paralyzed with terror and helpless to do anything but shake in their chairs. "Everyone, just stay calm," the man with the tank top called out, his voice steadying and lowering slightly. "We're just changing our course a bit, and then we'll be on our way. Everything is going to be just fine."

Back in the cockpit, the lead pilot had turned his head at the sound of gunfire just in time to watch his co-pilot go rigid in his chair. His eyes rolled back into his head and he let out a gurgling scream as a purple shadow ripped itself out of his stomach, clawing through layers of pink entrails and plopping into the chair with a slick grin, blood pouring out of the gaping hole in the man. Before the pilot could cry out, the pokémon grinned wider and let out a series of echoing clicking noises. It leapt into the pilots open mouth, wiggling into him and disappearing with a flare of mist. The pilot twitched and twisted unnaturally in his chair, then his eyes began to glow a faint shade of purple. His eyelids lowered calmly as he reached out for the controls, twisting them to the left and sending the plane slightly off course.

Before long, Pokétopia began to rush into view. The plane showed no signs of stopping- in fact, the engines began to scream noisily as the Wingull monstrosity sped up. As buildings began to whip past the side windows, the crowd howled passengers began to claw and scramble over each other, no longer caring about the old man the terrorists held captive that had long ago filled his pants with urine. They had devolved from sensible people to a stampede of raging Tauros, trampling women children alike as they reached out for the two men who were already in the middle of ripping open the emergency exit.

With a frothing crowd at their backs and engines howling as buildings whipped past, the two men looked at each other. The muscular man grinned and the man with the glasses gave him a curt nod, then they both screamed out at the top of their lungs to pierce the din of catastrophe roaring in full surround sound.

_"VOLTORB!"_ they shouted in unison, _"SELF-DESTRUCT!"_

The two men yanked the escape hatch open and leaped into the city as the plane howled and plummeted downwards, smashing into a massive steel building in the center of Pokétopia with an eruption of light and smoke. The plane crumpled and exploded fantastically against the building, the force of the shock toppling its structure immediately as heat rolled off in waves and smothered the city in a blanket of pure destruction.

While onlookers screamed and pointed in crowds, they were too absorbed in the horror unfolding before their eyes to notice two small figures opening parachutes and landing subtly in an alleyway nearby.

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><p><strong>xxx<strong>

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><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

**Not much to say, really! I love reading comments, thoughts, and random gibberish! Feel free to abuse the fancy Review button to your heart's content! I'm always dying for writing tips, so if you have any critique, throw it my way!**

**Until next time!**

**-Pie**


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